


sunday night and my sweetheart's come home

by philthestone



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I couldn't resist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sybil rolls her eyes at him. "All that nonesense doesn't <em>really</em> matter. I mean, Mary's half-engaged to a middle-class lawyer, for goodness' sake."</p>
            </blockquote>





	sunday night and my sweetheart's come home

**Author's Note:**

> I'm suddenly quite taken by the concept of how all the relationships pan out in a modern au so this emerged. There's probably going to be another one coming sometime soon.  
> Reviews are Sybil being alive!

She sits on the ledge and watches him disappear under the car repeatedly, the muffled clangs of the wrench echoing in the small garage.

They’re friends – best friends, even – and she doesn’t know how she could ever manage to go through nursing school without these moments of solitude.

Nursing, with a minor in political science.

As Granny is unfailingly quick to remind her, it is not the most conventional of double degrees.

Then again, Sybil has never been particularly conventional. She swings her legs slightly, the fabric of her cotton skirt riding up slightly against her thigh, and examines the makeshift bookshelf across the room.

“Why’ve you got two copies of the second year politics and history text book?”

There is a particularly loud clang and muffled grunt, and Tom pokes his head out from under the broken down Corvette.

“The second one’s yours.”

_“Mine?”_

“Yeah, you left it in my book bag, remember?”

“Is _that_ where that went? I looked for it everywhere.”

He’s smirking, she can see, and she makes a weak attempt at frowning at him. “It’s not funny, you know. I nearly had a panic attack about that stupid book, remember?”

“I don’t think it’s exactly possible for me to forget, Sybil.”

“So why didn’t you just give it to me?”

“I can’t actually remember anymore,” he says, ducking under the car again. “But I did talk to Clarkson about it, remember?”

“No, I – so that’s why he never asked me about it, then?”

“Probably.”

“Hm. I suppose I can forgive you.”

“Of course, your ladyship.”

“Shut up, Tom.”

There is a pause, in which she chews her lip and listens to the sounds of the wrench against the car. And then:

“If I asked, would you come to Papa’s charity dinner with me?”

A thud, and then loud swearing.

She almost giggles at his bewildered (handsome, too, but shut up Sybil, that’s dangerous territory) face, the brand new streak of engine grease across his cheek almost endearing.

“Say again?”

“Papa’s hosting one of those big charity dinners next week, and Edith asked if I wanted to bring anyone. You know, like a friend.”

“A friend.”

“Yes.”

“To a charity ball.”

“Dinner,” she corrects. “And yes, for goodness’ sake, what’s so strange about it?”

“But – you want to take _me_. To a fancy dinner gala. Me.”

“No, Prince Harry, you nutter. Of course you.”

He hesitates. “Are you quite sure your Mum and Dad’ll be thrilled that your date’s a mechanic?”

“You wouldn’t be my _date,_ ” she says, trying to sound dignified, and she hears him release a little breath that could either be considered relieved or disappointed (she doesn’t want to know which it is). “You’d be a person whose company I enjoy and therefore invited. And besides, you’ve got a degree in political science; you’re not _just_ a mechanic, Tom.”

He makes a face that she isn’t quite sure what to make of.

“But aren’t – I mean, isn’t it – ” he frowns slightly. “Isn’t your Dad an earl of something? I thought earl’s daughters were supposed to be seen places with – I dunno – millionaires, or something. Or the prince of England.”

“Very funny,” says Sybil, swings her legs out further. “And it doesn’t _really_ matter – Mary’s half-engaged to a middle-class lawyer.”

“ _Half_ engaged?”

“It’s complicated. I’ll tell you about it sometime; it’s really quite adorable.”

“Right.”

There is a pause. “So, will you come?”

“I – I guess, yeah.” He looks at her, and she swallows slightly, remembering their conversation just barely half a year ago on the lawn outside the medical sciences building at the university.

She’s treading dangerous ground, here, and she can see that he’s thinking of that bloody conversation as well (it always makes things so complicated, falling in love with your best friend), but she finds that she doesn’t quite care at this point and grins hugely.

“Brilliant. Those things can be awfully dull, and I’ve no longer got Mary to sit beside me and make fun as she used to. So I’ll pick you up at six, then?”

He gives her a grin that looks as though he’s resigned himself to his fate and shrugs. “Whatever you say, milady.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tom.”


End file.
